Dearest Matilda
by bisexualcharliedavis
Summary: I've not written a letter in almost six years, so please forgive my etiquette, it's not what it once was. (nuclear holocaust au, Charlie/Rose, hinted Charlie/Mattie. Charlie and Mattie oriented)


A/N: so like. End me. I'm free from this fic. I can move on. Finally. Another long ass post apocalypse fic but with a twist lol. Also more Mattie! Feels like I never write her enough. (warnings: death, major character death, systematic abuse of power, angst, a little gore here and there and a mildly apocalyptic government.)

'Dearest Matilda,

I'm not sure you will ever see this letter, as I have no way of knowing your current address. All I can hope is that you either still work at St Barts, or someone there cares enough for you to pass on your mail.

I suppose you know why I'm writing to you. You always did keep up on the news. People in Australia are allowed to send mail and request refuge in Mother England now. The requirements for such a move would require a sponsor in the United Kingdom, who has lived there for at least three years and you are the only person I know there. I know this is quite out of the blue, and very sudden, but I know that you will appreciate my not beating around the bush.

I've not written a letter in almost six years, so please forgive my etiquette, it's not what it once was. I know you will want updates on the others, and so would I. I haven't been able to contact any of our friends for at least a year. The last I was in contact with was Matthew, but I fear he too is lost to me now.

The doctor and Mrs Beazley used to work at a camp five down from mine, but the last few times I've been there, they haven't been registered. I'm not sure what happened to them, but once you lose something or someone these days, you never see it or them again. A depressing but honest truth. I haven't seen Bill Hobart since the first bombs were dropped. I was with Matthew for year, but he vanished off the face of the earth last year. I am yet to see any of your friends, but rest assured if I do, then I'll let you know right away. Last I saw your father he was giving some big moral boosting speech in Melbourne. I haven't seen him since.

I will conclude this letter now, as my fingers hurt. I have not had to do such skilled work in many years. I've been drafting this letter in my head for almost as long, yet I know not what to include. Even if you don't want to, or unable to help me leave the country, then I hope you will take the time to return my letter. Having correspondence with someone would certainly give me something to look forward to, and God only knows that there's not a lot to look forward to these days.

Yours Faithfully

Charles Davis. '

'Charles;

I don't think that my vocabulary has the words needed to sum up my emotions on reading your letter. Though I believe it was censored slightly by the Government, I understand most of what you are saying. I will do you the courtesy of being honest, as you were with me. Initially I was relieved to know that you were alive, then angry and upset to hear that you don't know where our friends have gone, but then relieved again that you were alive.

You will be relieved to hear that I am able to be your sponsor to seek refuge in this country, and I will do so gladly. With this letter, I've included my half of the documentation all filled out that you will need to send off with your half. If all goes according to plan, then the lady at the office has told me you could be in the country before Christmas.

I suppose I am much the same as I was when I left the country. I am not married, as I wanted to focus on my career, and work. By the time I was ready to marry, there were no men left. I've tried dating, but for the time being, I am single. I have no children, but I feel no loss as I see them regularly at the hospital. Have you managed to find some friends or a beau in the time since the bombs were dropped? We call it the Australia Bombing Incident over here now, to minimize it. To make people think it wasn't so bad.

I hope to continue correspondence with you while we wait for your request to be processed, as I think that your letters are something that I can look forward to as well. It does get rather lonely here, in England at times. I feel as though seeing you again would be a dream come true.

I've taken the liberty of including a photo of myself with this letter, as I feel you would appreciate it.

All My Love

Matilda O'Brian

Dearest Matilda;

I have never been good at expressing myself, even back in the times where I suppose I could have, I never learned how to tell people what they mean to me and what it is that I want to say. Upon reading your letter, I was hit with a wave emotion like nothing I've ever felt before. Gratitude like I've never felt, and I dare say will never be able to fully express. Happiness, possibly joy. An aching sadness. I don't know what the word is to describe such emotion, but I want to tell you that I felt it.

I don't think there are enough thank yous in the world to describe my gratitude to you for agreeing to help me seek refuge in England. It means the world to me, truly. Since I received your letter, I have been unable to concentrate on my work, because all I can think of is how it will feel to see you again. Truly I am a sad man, don't you think?

Since the bombs dropped, no. I haven't had a beau or taken the time to look. For the most, I attempted to keep everyone together as best I could. I was briefly engaged to a woman prior to this, however. Her name was Rose Anderson, and you won't believe this. She was Matthew's niece. She was killed within hours of the bombs dropping. I miss her terribly but I've found ways to move on. I am sending you our engagement rings for safe keeping, as they will not allow me to bring them over on the boat. I have to get rid of most of my possessions, and the rings are counted as surplus but I cannot bear to part with them. Please keep them safe for me.

Thank you for the picture, I must say you still look as beautiful now as you did when we were young. Unfortunately I haven't got one of myself for you. No one around here has cameras and even if they did, I wouldn't have money to buy one. The only picture I have of myself is one taken with Rose when we first announced our engagement, but I would like to keep that on me for the time being. I wonder what that makes me then, if I keep a picture of my fiancée and another woman on my person? But I think that's enough about me for the moment. I'd rather hear about you, I think.

Last I heard of you, you were making a name for yourself as a specialist nurse. How did that go? Why stay at Bart's so long? Have you been travelling?

Yours Faithfully.

Charles Davis.

Charles;

I don't think that you need to be able to express yourself, I got the gist of what you wanted to tell me, and I wanted to tell you that it's fine. It doesn't matter. I welcome you here with me, in fact. I don't need gratitude, I just need you to be someplace safe. I know that you would do the same for me, should I need it one day. I believe that kindness repays itself, even if it's not kindness as much as human decency.

Please do not lose time over me, but I must admit, you often make your way into my thoughts. Do you look the same as you used to, or has your face changed? I hadn't expected you to, I just thought it would be polite to ask. I suspected if you'd been in love since the bombing, then you would not have written me, I don't think you would leave unless you were sure there was nothing left for you there. I'm glad you did find someone though. I didn't even know Matthew had a niece, you know. Shows how much I know, then. I put your rings in my jewelry box with a lock on it so you can be sure that no one will take them while you're not here.

I have been travelling, a bit. I've been to Scotland since I've been here, I went to see the Stone Hedge, and I had my picture taken. I've also been to Paris, it was very beautiful there, a place of healing, I like to think. I'll have to take you there when your travel ban is lifted. I think you would enjoy it. I went to the top of the Eiffel tower and I stood there for so long, looking out the window. I imagined that this place I didn't know was actually Australia, and I was watching a city that I just didn't know yet. I felt homesick often in those first years, but I suppose I'm past it all now.

I was also engaged, for a time. To a doctor named Timothy. Tim, usually. But he wanted me to give up working once we were married so I broke it off with him. I suppose that it was a bit cruel of me to do that, but working is very important to me. I presume Rose worked, didn't she? Surely you would understand that. It makes me upset when I think about it for too long, because he was so lovely in so many ways, but I just thought if he can't respect me now how will it be when we're married?

But anyway, I shall bring this letter to a close now because I don't want you to have to read a small book.

All my love

Matilda O'Brian

…

The boat ride was long. As Hell. The minutes felt like hours. Charlie leant on the railing, his standard issue shirt offering him very little protection against the ocean wind. Yet the salty ocean air was alive. Perhaps a little on the stinging side, but alive. He felt alive, for the first time in years. They had only been allowed to bring a few things with them, the rest of it he'd either given away or sold, not like he had that much to begin with anyway. All his clothes were standard government issued shirts and trousers now, the only clothing he'd kept was the doctor's coat, one that he'd been given by the man himself. Charlie'd been in shock, shivering so hard he could have sworn he'd chipped his teeth, and could barely get his words out. The doctor hadn't seemed to mind the cold. Charlie always had. Something about poor circulation.

His other possessions meant his letters from Mattie, (including her photograph, but he kept that mostly on his person. For luck) a couple of pairs of his best socks, and the epaulettes off Lawson's coat. He has no hair gel, hasn't in years, but he's invested in cutting his hair in an attempt to make himself more like how he had been, but he feared it was all for moot. He looked bleached. His hair was white now, and thinner. His eyes hadn't feared a lot better, once blue now grey and grim. The left side of his face had a large burn scar, from when he tried to save people from the great fire. He tried to tell himself, that Mattie wouldn't care how he looked, but he can't say anything for sure. He supposed it was unlikely she would send him back, but again, he didn't know her anymore. He didn't even know himself.

He doesn't lose himself in those thoughts, instead, he thinks of what he will do when he gets to England. He will see Mattie, first and foremost, he had her home address she'd given to him. He has enough money to take a taxi to her place. From there, he will have to attend two years worth of reeducation classes, he can't really ask Mattie to put him up for two year, but since he can't work he supposes he could clean her house for her, bake dinner. He'd get there. From what he understood about the political landscape, some people were in favour of refugees like him others badly against it. He hoped that his presence would not put Mattie in any danger, the small amount of news he'd had access to on the boat described a woman being beat for wanting to help people in Australia. He doesn't know what he'd do if something happened to Mattie because of him. He takes his mind of that subject in particular, because he doesn't want to make himself upset so early in the daytime. The following year, he'd see what he could do about becoming a police officer. He doesn't mind going back to being a junior constable if it means he'd get to put that uniform back on. The ocean calls to him, deep and blue and reaching. He reaches back.

…

Mattie was waiting for the boat. The air smelt of salt and it reminded her of the taste of sadness. She'd always thought that sadness tasted salty. While it was true, she'd not been close with Charlie back in the day, the man had written to her for help, and she would always help a friend in need. Certainly, she'd had a small crush on him a long time ago, but now she'd been engaged. She'd worked. She was older and wiser. She was glad for him, to have met Rose. She has his rings in her pocket to give to him as soon as she saw him, Mattie thought that he might at least like that.

She tugged her cardigan closer around her shoulders as the boat pulled up to the shore. She felt uncertain. Charlie was on that boat. It'd been almost ten years since she last saw the man, saying goodbye to him as she set off on her adventure to England. She wasn't sure what to expect, if she would even be able to tell if it were him. Most of the images she'd seen of the people there were black and white, but she got the gist of it. Skinny women with sharp faces holding their stunted children close. Men with muscles and bone pressing against the skin trying to escape. Would he look like that? She couldn't be sure.

Firstly they let off the children. Some of them ran, others walked. Some people pulled the children into their arms. Some kept them at arm's length. She doesn't want to think as to why that would be. Then they let off women and women with babies. She watched them all with a tiny bead of jealousy in her stomach. But she doesn't linger on it. Each of them wanders to a person with their single bags at their sides. Lastly, they let off the men. Most of them looked like they'd been dragged through bleach. White hair and burnt eyes. They moved slowly. Charlie had said in his letter that he'd be wearing Blake's coat so she kept her eyes peeled for that.

The first time she sees him, she's slightly scared. He's so different. His face was white, bleached almost. Too white. Blake's coat is faded as well, more yellow then brown. He too has his single suitcase, clutched tightly in a hand that was missing a finger. He moves away from the boardwalk and then looks around, eyes calculating, not sure how to interact with this new environment. He sighs deeply, and his eyes move right over her. She started to make her way through the oddly quiet crowd toward him.

"Charlie!" She called out. He hears her and turns to the left, scanning over the crowd. Damn her height! "Charlie!" She called again, emerging from the crowd like a whale from the ocean. He finally sees her and runs toward her. She can't help but run to him. She finds herself gathered up into his arms and he presses his face into the top of her head. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her own face deep into his shoulder. He's muttering something she can't make out under his breath, over and over again. She kept her face firm in his shoulder. Neither of them are willing to move not for a long time yet. She doesn't know what sparked a usually stoic man to break his typical conventions and hug her. She's not sure she wants to know. What she does know, at least right now, is that she has arms around her, and she never wants them to leave.

…

A million years seem to pass in the time it takes them to get to Mattie's flat. Cars are a novelty, the only people with cars in Australia were the English overseers and you can believe that no Australian's ever rode in them. He gazes out the window at the idealic sky. It had been blue when the boat had landed, but was no overcast and grey. Mattie told him that was normal. He doesn't care, personally. He's glad to see something other than the needless expanses of nothingness that was the Australian sky. He kept his eyes out for a hotel that looked like it offered a fairly good rate.

They pulled up at her flat, and the two of them stepped out, with him retrieving his bag from the car.  
"Home sweet home." She commented, as they went inside. He set his bag in the doorway and took a bit of a look around. It was a nice little flat, he thought.  
"I'll put you up in the spare room, if that's alright?"  
"Pardon?"  
"I'll put you up in the spare room. To sleep." She said, turning half to look at him. He nodded, and followed her to the kitchen. He placed one hand down on the counter. He feels like an alien. It's been so long since he was in a house, with walls and doors and windows.  
"I've arranged time so I can take you to your classes tomorrow, but then I'll have to find a way to get you there by yourself." He nodded, and dragged his eyes off the bench top.  
"Thank you, Mattie." He said.  
"I'll make some tea." She said, softly, "You go sit down in the living room. You look dead on your feet." She said kindly, and rubbed his arm as she passed. Charlie nodded, and went to sit.

Once he was down on the overstuffed couch, he found it almost uncomfortable. To soft. Too much. He persists. He doesn't want to seem rude, he can't think of anything worse than being seen as rude by the only person he has left in the world. He produced his rings from his pocket and set them on his hand. One, a plain gold band, though scratched now. The other, a plain gold band with a single diamond on it. He put the gold band on his finger, watching as it slid back into the old groove. Rose's ring he kept studying, as if it were her, and she was here.

Mattie set a cup of tea down on the table in front of him. He glanced up. There was a couple of sugar cubes on the plate as well, and he picked one up and put it straight into his mouth. Sugar was such a rarity. There was never any in the little packs of food provided by the government, he only had it on the ship when they provided their charges with a little dessert on the last night.

He shut his eyes and let himself taste the sugar. It was good. He liked it. He opened them to find Mattie starring at him.  
"Sorry." He said, after a moment, "We uh. Don't have much sugar back home." She gave him an odd little nod.  
"It's...It's fine." He tried to give a smile back to her but it was lopsided and felt forced. She took a sip of her own tea. "I should have expected you to be a bit different." She doesn't mean it in a harsh way but it still feels a little bad. His fingers feel too big for the cup, like he's going to break it if he holds on too tight. He blew over the top of the light brown drink before taking a little sip. It tastes like water and leaves and hot fires and the smell of rain. It tastes like the station after an arrest and Blake's arm around his shoulder. It tastes like game shows and Rose's head on his arm. It tastes of home. It's enough to make him cry.

He set the cup down quickly and raised his hand to wipe away the tears.  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Mattie quickly came over and put her arms around his shoulders.  
"It's okay." She said, softly, "Its fine." She continued, and put her hand on his back, moving her palm around in neat circles.  
"I'm crying over tea." He said, into her shoulder.  
"It's a lot to take in." She hushed, and let him cry until there was nothing left.

He went into the bedroom that night, not even sure what to make of it. After a couple of seconds, he removed the quilt from the bed and lay it on the floor. It felt…Safer then sleeping in the bed. More protected. He wondered, before drifting off, if he was going crazy. He rolled under the bed, breathing in the dust. It felt safe, under there, giving the illusion that there was nothing to hurt him. With one hand, he reached up, feeling along the roof. He's wearing pajamas that Mattie had for him, they had been fresh in the bag and he can't help but feel slightly desperate about it because what about the others back home? They had no such luxuries. He thought about Matthew Lawson, who died in dirty clothes stained with blood and the thick smell of death all around them.

He takes them off and stuffs them into a draw, putting yesterday's clothes back on, including the trench coat. He falls asleep desperately searching for the last of the Doctor's smell on the fabric.

…

Reeducation courses were, as far as Charlie could see, to ensure that they hadn't let the riff-raff into Mother England. Every refugee was expected to attend the classes and do the assignments. His group was the most intensive, mostly men like him who had worked on the fields. He doesn't know any of them personally. No one else from his camp had even applied for refuge, but he could, and there was nothing left for him there so he didn't even hesitate to ask Mattie for help. He didn't have any pride anymore. Hadn't in a long, long time.

The room they were held in was large with about twelve desks in the middle. For today, he'd been granted clothes by Mattie who brought them for his arrival. From his understanding, she received a small amount of money monthly from the government as a gesture of goodwill or her taking him on. She spent it on getting him some clothes. He likes them a lot. Dark pants, thick shirt and a good scarf, one he could pull up around his nose when the chill got too much. He topped it off with Blake's trench coat, he's so used to wearing it now that he can't imagine a life where he hadn't.

They stopped by the doorway, and Mattie gave a look in and a sigh.  
"I feel like I'm dropping you into prison."  
"I'll be fine." He lied, and accepted one last hug from her before she was waved out of the door. He doesn't know what perfume she was wearing, but it smelt like flowers and chemicals. It smells good. He resists holding her for much longer than a few seconds, even though he wanted to.

He looked around at all the others, all either saying their goodbyes or already seated. He wandered to the front and sat down, picking up the pencil that was sitting on the desk. Typical graphite. It reminds him of the pencils they used to have at the station. The man taking the course is tall and he looks like, to Charlie, like someone who should not be messed with, like some kind of teacher who gave fails for fun. He straightened his back. He loved a challenge.

…

When the classes were over, Charlie had to take the bus back to the apartment. He stood for the whole ride, trying to ignore the eyes on him the whole way there. A little girl was looking at him, big green eyes fixed on his white hair.  
"Mummy his hair is white!" She said, in awe and for a few seconds, Charlie Davis is not Charlie Davis. He's someone else. He's being admired by children on the bus.  
"Don't look at him, Lucy you'll get infected." Charlie swallowed deeply, and looked away, feeling very much like Charlie Davis, all of a sudden. He knew fully well he wasn't infected with anything, the country wouldn't have let him in If he was. He dropped his eyes to the floor, swallowing thick saliva and letting out a gentle sigh. It's only his first day.

Upon returning home, he concluded that he had four tasks to perform. Task one, he had to clean the house. So, he did just that. He scrubbed the floors, by hand and then with the mop until they were sparkling. He took the bottle of cleaner to the bathroom and scrubbed the bathtub until there was not even the hint of shadow to it. He shined every piece of silver she had and dusted every shelf. He vacuumed every bedroom and washed the sheets and remade all the beds. He liked the menial work, it kept him occupied and he didn't think about anything to do with Australia, or the current state of things or the reeducation courses. He doesn't think about Doctor Blake or Matthew Lawson or Jean Beazley or Rose Anderson or Bill Hobart or Ned Simmons or his mother or his brothers. All he thinks about is the feeling of satisfaction in his aching hands as he looks at his distorted face in the bath tub.

Secondly, he had to make something for dinner. He checked the contents of Mattie's fridge. It's not ideal, but there is enough ingredients to make pastry for a pie, and then there is chicken. Perfect. He rolls pastry and brushes flour over the counter top. He cuts and heats and wraps and smooths. It's good work, menial but useful. No room left in his mind to think. He supposes that it's a good thing because he doesn't fancy another break down.

While that cooked, he set about unpacking his single suitcase. Firstly, he put his photographs up against the lamp on the nightstand. He pauses to examine them. One of himself and Rose taken by Jean for the paper where they announced their engament. (or rather, where Edward did). They're standing in front of Jean's garden, beaming widely. Rose is close to his side, her arms looped around his facing side on. His hands are on hers, and he's smiling as well. They don't have a care in the world. They don't even know that in three weeks Russia is going to get it's own back and drop bombs on them to get to England. Sure, they'd known things were bad, but the radio man had made it sound like it was a lifetime away. Neither of them knew, they just went on with their happy little lives.

Next he props up the photo that Mattie sent him. It's a work photo, she's in uniform, perfectly angled, hair pinned under her white hat. He'd always thought she was beautiful, it was clear as day to anyone who took the time to look at her. He wouldn't even deny that when she left, he'd even considered taking her to the pictures, if she'd have him. But then she was gone and he pushed the thoughts away. Even now, after so much sadness, she was beautiful. He carried the picture on him, for luck. He follows those with his engagement rings, Rose's was simple, a plain band with one tiny diamond in the center. She'd loved it. Compared to his, her hands were so small, he thought. He debates putting his ring down, but decides to, not wanting to split up the pair.

Of course, then he had to put away his clothes. Two standard shirts, two standard pants, three pairs of socks and some gloves. Mattie has already brought him quite a few outfits, he thought, as he stowed his things away. He wants to thank her again. He will, he will when she comes home.

Following that all that's left is his paperwork, his comb and toothbrush, and his assignments for reeducation. Finally, he's content with the state of the room. He made the bed, and sat on the bed. It's soft, comfortable. He wonders about Mattie and the man she had wanted to marry. She was right. He could never force his wife to give up work. All he would want was for them to be happy. He'd never talked about it with Rose, there'd been no need. They both knew she was going to work when they married, of course she was. She'd probably be the one to write their announcement. He wants to find the man and tell him to not let go of what he had, that Mattie was everything wonderful and good in the world and he was a damn fool for letting her go. But he can't.

His final task is to consider accommodation. He suspected Mattie would not want him here longer than a month at best, if he played his cards right. He needed to find a place to stay when she didn't want him here anymore. He would save every penny until she told him to go, then he would leave. He would have a month to earn enough to last a while, at least. He opened the phone book, and went through, circling various placed that looked cheap enough until the pie was cooked. He put that on low to keep warm while he waited late into the night for Mattie.

…

The days tick by slowly now, she finds. She can feel every second tick by and she doesn't know if that's good or not. It's not that she doesn't want to go home to Charlie, because she does. God she does. He's every bit home to her as he was back in the day, but there's something about him she struggles with. Something of a gaping maw, a hollowness, a sadness that perverted all his actions and infected the space he was in.

She hates it. She can't breathe in the same air as him sometimes because his sadness has bled out of him and into the around him. Yet she still craves his presence. His being. He was still Charlie. He was still her responsibility, as much as he loathed to be called that.

She looked up at the clock. The minute hand ticked over the six. Home time. She got to her feet and slung her shawl around her shoulders. She headed to her car, stopping to talk to one of the doctors on her way out.

"How is Charlie settling in?" She'd brought Charlie into work with her a few days after he first arrived in an effort to educate the doctors on treating refugees. Most of them had simply been assigned to her. Like Charlie, almost all of them had various ailments and needed treatment in the long term.  
"Better." She said, with a smile. "It's just slow going." She offered, "He turned in his first reeducation assignment today so he's been nervous. He has nothing to worry about though." He nodded.  
"You're doing a good thing, taking him on." She smiled.  
"Thanks. I really. I really needed to hear that today." She said, before she walked off and away, out to take her car home.

Charlie was waiting for her, as he always was, sitting on the couch working hard on his next assignment even though it wasn't due for a while yet.  
"Evening." She smiled.  
"Did you have a nice day?" He asked, in a way that feels utterly domestic.  
"'Spose. What are you working on?" She asked, sitting next to him. On one side of the paper, she noticed that he was writing out the alphabet over and over and over, as well as the sentence 'The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dogs' She supposed he was trying to get used to writing again, since he hadn't in so long.

He's still, of course, wearing the doctor's trench coat, but she convinced him to have it dry cleaned recently so that it wouldn't start to stink. He glanced up at her.  
"Uh this section is on the law." She looked over his handiwork. Looked like he was already halfway done.  
"Okay, great." She always felt like she was dancing on eggshells, which wasn't his fault, not at all, it was just that she couldn't stand when he fell back into the sadness that always seemed to be present in their lives, it broke her heart.  
"I attempted to make a lasagna today, I got the recipe from one of the men in my reeducation course."  
"That's pasta with sauce right, like a cake?" He nodded,  
"It's in the oven, it should be finished soon."  
"Something on your mind?" He was a bit sullen, even for Charlie who was quiet most of the time. He sat back and looked her over, before shaking his head no.  
"I don't believe you."  
"I saw protesters today, outside the building, saying we should be sent back." He said, finally. She lets him continue speaking, aware that the long pause in his speech was because he has to think of a way to phrase what he wanted to say. "It made me mad." He continued, "Really mad."  
"Did you act on it?"  
"No." She nodded, and put a hand on his arm. Charlie looked down at it, and sighed softly. "I wish I had."  
"No you don't. You wish people would learn to understand where you come from." He put his face into his hands. She wrapped her arms around him after a moment.  
"You'll be okay." She promised. "You'll be just fine." He nodded, and sniffed slightly.  
"I'm uh. I'm going to go check the food." She nodded, and let him go, watching him leave with that sadness still deep in her gut.

She looked over at his work, before standing and going to her room to change into something other than her work uniform.

…

He was lying on the floor under the bed. Mattie blinked slowly, and tried to process what she was seeing. Charlie was on the floor, under the bed, wrapped in a blanket. She knelt next to him, and then rolled under the bed next to him. He looked at her, then looked up to the springs.  
"Did I wake you?"  
"Yeah."  
"Sorry."  
"It's fine." She said, softly. She put her head on his chest. He'd been so skinny when he first arrived, but it seemed like he was finally starting to put on weight. "What were you dreaming about?"  
"The doctor." She nodded, and closed her eyes for a few moments.  
"What happened, to you guys?"  
"I don't really want to talk about it."  
"It might be good if you do." He looked at her, his eyes light in the otherwise dark room.  
"I was with him when they dropped the bombs. Me, Hobart, Ned, Matthew and Blake were all at the station." He said, in a soft voice. "We were in there for so long, the lot of us." He whispered, "It was dark, cold and damp." He said, finally, like he was saying it for the first time. "Lucien didn't wait long enough before he left. He was looking for Jean, but…He couldn't find her. That wasn't unusual. Lots of people just vanished. He got sick. Real sick. Radiation poisoning, I think he called it. He took a long time to die." He said, softly. "Everything smelled like vomit, I think that's what I remember most. He kept telling me he was sorry." Charlie looked at her again, "I don't think it was an accident, what he did. I think he wanted to test fate. I don't think he wanted to live without Jean. I mean I don't blame him. I don't want to live either but I suppose we all must take the cards we're dealt." He said, still looking up.

"I was holding him. We all took turns but I was the last. One day he just…didn't open his eyes. Then he just stopped. It was a relief rather than sadness, I think. He wasn't suffering anymore. A little bit of me hoped it was catching. That he was going to get the rest of us as well. That we wouldn't have to see the rest of the world."  
"Why did you lie to me?"  
"Because I'm selfish."  
"What?"  
"Because I wanted you to think it was out of my hands. Because I wanted you to have hope. I don't know. I thought that if you knew…I was that close to the radiation you wouldn't have helped me. I'm not sure." Mattie nodded, and carefully put her face on his chest.  
"You shouldn't have worried."  
"All I can do is worry."  
"I know." She said, softly. "I hope some day, you feel like you can tell me about what happened to you."  
"I'll be out of your hair soon."  
"How so?"  
"I've found a hotel that accepts refugees." She blinked. She hadn't even known Charlie was looking to leave. "As soon as I can afford such expenditures, I'll go."  
"Why do you want to leave?" Charlie glanced at her.  
"I can't stay here forever."  
"Yes you can." She said, in the softest voice possible. "Please stay with me. I can't lose anyone else." Charlie slowly curled one of his arms around her. "I know that you've been through so much. I can see it, when I look at you, but please. I've lost Australia. I thought I lost everyone. But not you. I still have you. I can't…I couldn't manage, losing you as well."  
"You won't lose me." He said, in a soft voice. "I'm here." She began to cry, after a moment, thinking of all her loss. Charlie doesn't move, or even complain, just rubbed her shoulder and let her press her face into his shoulder.

…

Charlie supposed, all things to be considered, he must look something savage. He's sitting on the floor and eating with his hands. But Mattie's not around. There's no one to impress. Therefore he would allow himself the small comforts of home. However far away that place may be. His history book sat open on the table in front of him, the crisp, clean pages all reading lies of something he was there to experience.

He can't cough up the energy to keep reading, not today. Instead his stomach swirl with that pit of sadness he'd tried so hard to put behind him, at least for the sake of Mattie. Almost everything he does is for the sake of Mattie. Funny He'd gone from being dedicated to Rose, to Blake, to Matthew, to her, and then when she leaves? Who will he turn to then, with his oppressive warmth and clinging, desperate hands? He doesn't know. He doesn't even know if he wants to know.

He sighed, and put his head onto the couch, starring up at the ceiling. The fan makes loops on the ceiling, around and around and around. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and thought of Rose.

" _You always look so stiff in pictures!" She said, taking the black and white still from Jean's hand and holding it up to the light.  
"Oi!" He said, reaching out to take it from her. She laughed and held it just out of his reach still starring at it.  
"Look at you! Look at your face!" She laughed. Charlie grabbed another picture from the packet of freshly developed pictures.  
"I look fine!"  
"You look like a wooden board!" She laughed. _

He opened his eyes, and her laughter drifted off into his memory again, much like the woman herself. He misses her. He misses her so much that it hurts like a physical wound and the worst part was he didn't even know if he was missing Rose or who he thought Rose was, the Rose his imagination had built for him. The front door opens.

Mattie came through, and went to her bedroom to change.  
"Evening Charlie!" He didn't reply. He moved up onto the couch, and looked down at his book again, before he sighed softly and closed it. He didn't have any desire to study tonight. Just to sleep.

When she came back in, she, as per usual took a seat next to him on the sofa. She didn't speak, just put her head on his arm as a way of saying 'I'm here, I'm real.'

"They make movies about Australia."  
"I know."  
"Why?"  
"People like that."  
"We saw one today."  
"Did you like it?"  
"Not really. It showed the English as these important saviors who risked their lives to come pull us Australians up out of the dirt and start again."  
"I imagine things weren't like that."  
"Not really. The English control everything from the law to the distribution of rations. God forbid you should upset one of them." He commented, "Do you know we still have public executions?" Mattie shook her head.  
"No one ever told me that."  
"For criminals. No jails. Hard labor sometimes. Heinous crimes? Death." He said, leaning back in his seat and putting his arms in his lap. "Didn't see that in the movie. There was a sideplot where an English man falls in love with an Australian girl. Like he was lowering himself to her level." He said, frowning. "I hated it. Totally."  
"I thought you would." She replied, "I might have seen that one. The girl dies from radiation poisoning, doesn't she?"  
"Yeah. Probably about the only thing they got right." He scoffed, and shook his head. He could remember the radiation poison. They didn't look beautiful while the died, that was for certain. He remembers blood, tears, sweat and pus. Blood stains on cloth. The smell of vomit. He hated it. They sat in silence for a while. Mattie doesn't go get food.  
"What was she like?"  
"Who?"  
"Rose. What was she like? I don't think I ever met her."  
"She was…She was a lot of things. But she wasn't like anyone else in the world. She never made it easy for me, that was for sure. Her first date with me was out of pity because she didn't want me to spend valentine's day alone." Mattie can't help but laugh softly.  
"Sorry."  
"It's fine. It's…It's funny. Once, she and I went out to the lake and tried to skip stones." Charlie said, "But we couldn't do it, so we ended up just trying to throw them as far as we could." He said, feeling strange, like he was sharing something precious. He hadn't spoken to anyone about Rose, not even Matthew. "She used to take lots of pictures, and she'd try to have me model for her, and when I didn't she'd just taken them of me doing chores. She wrote all the time. She loved words more then she loved pictures, I think. She used to keep a diary by her bed, so if she had an interesting dream, she could write it down." He continued, "And I asked her to marry me on a Tuesday, when we were out in the garden, and she said yes, but followed that with 'You lucky bastard'"  
"She sounds wonderful."  
"I think you would have liked her."  
"I imagine I would have."  
"What about your fiancée?"  
"He was…Nice."  
"Nice?"  
"I liked him a lot. He was there for me, when it all went down. He defended me, and told me I was beautiful and he was handsome so that helped." Charlie smiled slightly. "Just a shame he was so awful I suppose." She finished. He scoffed, and shut his eyes for a moment. She leant down, and put her head on his chest, before following in suit.

Charlie had never really seen snow before. Once, when he was a child, but other than that snow had been a distant fable, something that people other than him knew. And yet here he was, in the snow. It was the Christmas season, and all around them people hustled and bustled to get their shopping done. Mattie had insisted he come along with her to pick out gifts for her friends he'd met once or twice. She was going to a Christmas party in a few days, and also wanted a new dress. Pulling his scarf further up his neck, walked next to Mattie, trudging through the wet snow.

As they stepped into a dress shop, Mattie pulled him over to have a look at some of the dresses on display. Occasionally, she would pass him one to hold onto. Charlie had no such interest in fashion. He wore what Mattie gave him, taking her word that it was the latest style. Bell bottom pants, for example. He didn't understand the purpose of having so much room in one's pants leg but they were warm enough. His choice in shirts were typically polo necked with a breast pocket. Not that it mattered, it was hard to see any of that underneath his coats. He had two now, for his birthday Mattie had given him a new coat so they could have the other one cleaned and repaired. This one was black, and he liked that he could flip the collar up.

While Mattie changed, he wondered what he should get her for Christmas. As far as money went, he didn't have much. Just what he'd saved up here and there from the pitiful allowance he was given by the government people, but he was determined to make the most of it. He knew for a fact that he certainly couldn't afford anything in here.

Mattie stepped out of the changing room.  
"What do you think?" She asked, clearly excited about this dress. Charlie had to say, it looked quite nice. The dress was a sort of pink colour with a high neck and bell sleeves. She had a white belt fasted around her waist, and it reached just past her knees.  
"Won't you be cold?"  
"Stockings, Charlie!" She reminded him.  
"Ah." He replied, "I think it looks nice. Good colour." She grinned, and wrapped him in a hug. He laughed and hugged her back, forgetting who he was for a moment. He wasn't Charlie from Australia who came here to leave that death behind him, he was just Charlie, who was a little bit in love with Mattie. And She wasn't Mattie who took him on out of duty and pity. She was just beautiful Mattie O'Brian who lived in a little flat and was a nurse. She released him, and still grinning, went back into the changing room. A young lady nearby smiles at him. 

"Your fianceé seemed excited."  
"My- Oh. I'm sorry, we're not engaged. Just friends." He said, rubbing at his ring carefully. She gave him a funny look, before turning back to whatever it was she was doing. Charlie cleared his throat and looked back to the changing room curtain.

With the dress now purchased, the pair headed back out into the cold. Charlie wasn't going to buy Mattie's gift today, but rather, over the week, after his courses (which is what they'd taken to calling them) so that it would be a surprise for her. And that was when he saw him.

Up ahead of them, he saw a familiar face, one he'd been trying very hard to forget for almost ten years now. He can't help himself, he pushes through the crowds, past people and away from Mattie, who begins to chase after him. He can barely hear her call his name over the roar of blood and anger in his ears.

"Charlie, where are you going? Stop!" But he can't stop. His feet move of their own accord, demanding retribution. He reaches out with his arm, and clasps onto the man's shoulder, spinning him around to face him in the middle of the street.

"Charlie."  
"Edward."  
"Charlie what are you-Oh." Mattie has caught up with him. She seems as unimpressed with Edward as he does, although it's for another reason.  
"I didn't expect to see you here." He'd spent a long time planning what he'd say, if he ever had the chance, but now he has the chance the words don't even begin. "How have you been?" Charlie blinks, confused.  
"You could have saved her." Edward is sweating, despite the chill in the air.  
"You don't know that ,you, you weren't there."  
"She was crushed by a beam in your shelter and you're telling me that in fifteen weeks, you didn't have time to move it off her?"  
"Charlie…" He can't get more words out, but he wants to yell and scream and fight him. Mattie puts her hands around his arm, just like Rose used to, holding him back. And grounding him, apparently.  
"You weren't there, Charlie." She said, softly. "Let him speak."  
"She wanted me to give you this." Edward told him, before turning away and leaving as swiftly as he'd come, probably to avoid Charlie's anger. He reached with the hand not holding the letter and Mattie to wipe at his eyes.  
"Let's go home." She said, softly,  
"No, no. We can keep going. You don't have any more days off this week and you need to get it done." She looked at him for another moment like she might fight him, but concedes defeat, and they walk into a nearby store.

…

Charlie.

I have no idea if you'll ever read this.

I never thought about what I would tell you, if I was dying. Maybe I thought I wouldn't have to. Maybe I thought you would die first. I don't know for sure. I'm not sure how much time I have left but whatever it is, please know that the others have done their best to make me comfortable. It's just an impossible task, for I fear the only thing that could comfort me right now is you.

Don't worry. I know where you are. You're at the station, probably tied to a chair or something by my uncle to ensure that you don't do something stupid like run out into the fallout with the intent of finding me. It's comforting, actually. To know someone would put your health before theirs, regardless of how misguided it may be.

I don't think I told you I loved you very often, or as much as I should have. For that? I'm sorry. I'm not that great at admitting my vulnerabilities. But looking back, I wish I had. So let it be known, that I, Rose Anderson am very much in love with Charlie Davis. I love him (that is to say you) more than anyone else on the planet and am very much looking forward to spending the rest of my life with him. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

So I suppose now is the time I tell you that I want you to move on and be happy. But I know you wouldn't believe that for a second. It's not that I don't want you to be happy. I do. I just want you to be happy with me. But that won't happen now. Unless you're also dead and we meet in the afterlife. (in which case this letter would be all for moot) You don't need my permission to be happy. I know you will fall in love again, I don't see how you couldn't. You have a heart utterly overflowing with love, and I know that someone else will make it beat like I did. All I ask is that you keep a little bit of that love for me.

Love;

Rose Anderson (Davis)

…

Mattie sighed and wiped her hands on a dish towel. After their encounter with Edward a few days ago, Charlie had seemed almost inconsolable. She supposed that she might feel the same way, if she'd lost the love of her life in such a horrible way.

She headed to the spare room, or really, Charlie's room, and sat on the bed next to him. He seemed to spend most of his time starring at his picture of Rose or working.  
"How are you?" She asked softly, reaching to his hand and pulling it into hers.  
"I'm…Alright." He said, softly. "Been better."  
"Hm." She said.  
"I'm worried I'm forgetting her."  
"How so?"  
"I can't remember what the last thing I said to her was." Mattie tightened her grip on his hand, and put her head on his shoulder, as was the usual routine.  
"It doesn't matter what the last thing you said to her was."  
"Doesn't it?" He sounded confused.  
"Do you remember your first kiss?"  
"Yes."  
"Do you remember the first I love you?"  
"Yes."  
"Do you remember the first time you called her your fianceé?"  
"Yes, but Mattie I don't-"  
"Then you remember the important stuff. And that's what matters." He blinked, then nodded, and looked back at the picture.  
"I guess you're right." He said, putting his other hand around hers. She smiled slightly.  
"Usually am." She offered, and Charlie gave her a tiny smile. She turned her eyes to look at Rose, grinning broadly, a perfect opposite to Charlie's somewhat stiff stoic expression. She wishes that she'd known Rose Anderson, so she could share stories with Charlie and makes him laugh. His laughter was a perfect distraction from the gaping wound in her own chest, bleeding freely down her breast as she thought of all the people she'd lost. Of course Charlie would be lost in his own grief, he'd been through so much and here she was, expecting him to comfort her.

"Will you tell me when you saw my father?" She asked, softly.

"About a week after we left the shelter, that is myself, Matthew, Frank and Ned, because by this point Bill had already headed off to Melbourne to try and find his mother so it was just the four of us, we were in the city center, and he was giving a speech, encouraging everyone to sign up for the refugee camps." Charlie explained, "And he saw me, in the crowd, and recognized me as one of your friends. He asked us if we had a place in the camps, we said no, so he took us in his car, something of a novelty at the time and possibly the last time I rode in one before coming here, to the one he was in charge of. I don't know where your mother was, I don't even know if she was still alive, sorry. He signed us up, and he said he was going to call you, asked me if I wanted you to know anything, and I told him not really."

"Was that the last time you saw him?"  
"No, actually. It wasn't. The last time I saw him was just after Frank died he…Was executed. For inciting a riot." Mattie doesn't know why she was crying. She wiped furiously at her face. Somehow, knowing the truth made it hurt so much more. Charlie put his arms around her, held her flush against his chest. She cried into his shirt, unable to control herself, much less her tears. Charlie closed his eyes and put his head against hers. He isn't crying, she thinks. She could feel that in his chest, if he was crying. He told her once that he'd cried enough, he has nothing left to cry out.

She cries, and cries. She'd known he was dead, she'd cried before, but it felt like all the hurt she'd buried was being ripped out of her chest and displayed in the light. And it hurt. It hurt so bad. Charlie is soothing, like salve on a burn, but it still aches. It still aches.

"There were some good times, you know." He said, softly, his voice rumbles through his chest, a pleasing metronome. "I met up with Jean, at the camp." He said, softly. "I remember one night, someone started singing, to raise moral, and we danced in front of a fire and you almost forgot how it was."  
"Sounds nice."  
"It was." He said, "She was an excellent dancer, I kept stepping on her toes." Mattie smiled through her tears.  
"What happened to her?"  
"She took off with Jack one day. I told her to stay…"  
"But Jack was her son." He nodded,  
"Indeed. Last I heard from her was via letter that she and Jack were taking a boat to New Zealand."  
"I thought it was worse there."  
"The people are nicer."  
"Ah." She replied, "You think she made it?"  
"Dunno. Hope so." She nodded against his chest and took in a breath of Charlie-tinted air. It smells slightly of sweat, but also deodorant and aftershave, and something so uniquely Charlie she has no name for it. It's a good smell.

…

Coming home from reducation was always shorter then the going there, he thought, as he made his way up the steps of the building where Mattie lived. She lived on the second story of her block of flats. Charlie was indifferent to it, he could have lived on any of them and been fine. The man who lives above them is also coming down the stairs. Charlie doesn't know him, but Mattie has baked him a cake for Christmas. (Well, he'd baked it and she'd iced it. Poorly.) He turns on his side to let the man pass in the narrow hallway when he feels a hand on his throat.

Suddenly, he's slammed up against the wall from behind. Air is cut off. His body goes into fight or flight, but the man is taller and pins Charlie in place easily.  
"Get the Hell out of my country." He doesn't have an answer, he can't breathe. Can't even think. "Or your girl is gonna get it." He released Charlie's throats, and he fell to his knees, breathing heavily. Rubbing his throat, he made his way to the flat, and fell onto the couch.

When Mattie came home, she spent a while walking around before sitting on the floor next to the couch.  
"What's up?" He sat so she could see the hand shaped bruise on his neck. "Oh my God!" She exclaimed, "What happened?" She demanded, going up onto her knees.  
"I had an altercation with the man upstairs in the hallway."  
"What happened?"  
"He told me to go home or you would _get it_."  
"What does that mean?"  
"I don't know. I don't…I don't know." He said, after a moment. "Can we talk about something else?" She nodded, and climbed up onto the sofa with him.  
"How was your day?"  
"Interesting, otherwise. I was offered an interview on a radio show."  
"Really?" She asked, looking at him surprised.  
"Yes. It was offered to all the refuges."  
"Will you go?"  
"Maybe I'm not sure yet."  
"You should. Maybe it will make people more sympathetic?"  
"I don't want sympathy." He said, sharply.  
"Empathy, then. Do it, that's my advice." Charlie sighed, and lay back down on the sofa. Mattie climbed up so she could lie on top of him. "Tell me about Frank Carlyle." 

"Frank Carlyle. He was with us in the shelter, but he didn't want to talk to the doctor while he was dying." Charlie said, after a moment, "We were all separated at the camp. Matthew, being disabled was sent to work in the barn with the others who couldn't do labour, Ned and I went to the same camp, and Frank being older was sent to somewhere else."  
"I didn't know you and Matthew were separated."  
"Not for that long, but I digress. I didn't hear from him for ages, until one day a huge fire broke out at his camp and all of us made our way down there, to see what was happening."  
"Why?"  
"Curiosity. Anyway, we went down the other camp to see what was happening, and it was a riot."  
"A riot?"  
"Hm. People wanted to be treated better by Mother England. They shot them all."  
"Did they?"  
"Hm. He didn't die, right away. He saw me, standing there, and he reached out one hand for me. Bloody and filthy. But I stayed. There was no point in moving forward, I'd be shot too and someone had to look after Jean" She nodded, and put a hand on his chest, over his heart.  
"Matthew?" He can't tell her that, he can't share that moment, those times, not with her. Not with anyone. He shook his head. She nodded hers, and tightened one hand in his shirt. He shut his eyes, and sighed.

...

"He'll be fine, Mattie."  
"I know that, Kel, I'm just nervous." With the radio on and plugged in, Mattie and her friends had gathered at the nurses station to listen to Charlie's interview. The song faded out, and a man's voice came on.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, I hope you're having a good day. I'm Oxford Peak, and today I'm here with Australian refugee Charlie Davis. "

"Hello." She smiled, pleased he'd at least gone.  
"So, Charlie. Where in Australia did you come from?"  
"I was uh, born in Melborune, which is city in Victoria, and then I moved to Ballarat, a larger country town, when I was in my late twenties."  
"And why did you move to Ballarat?"  
"My work, I was a police officers and they offered me work out there."  
"Did you enjoy being a police officer?"  
"Very much." Seeing that Charlie was more of a monotone answer kind of man, the host switched to another subject. 

"So, tell us about your sponsor, I understand her name is Mattie?"  
"Uh, yes. Mattie, short for Matilda."  
"And how did the two of you meet?"  
"It's a bit of a long story."  
"Well that's why you're here, to tell your story."  
"Mattie and I met around the time I moved to Ballarat. I actually arrested her the first time we met. I suppose it's fair to say I've grown up a bit since then. We lodged together at the home of a mutual friend. She met him through her work as a nurse, and I met him through my work as a police officer."  
"He sounds like some man." Mattie's lip quirked against her will. That was how she'd described Blake's mother once.  
"I 'spose." Charlie replied, "We lived with him and his wife. We weren't close at the time."  
"Are you close now?" Mattie raised her eyebrows.  
"I don't have anyone else." A pause. She wished she could have gone and been with him. "So yeah. I suppose we are now. I think she's actually listening to this. Hi Mattie." One of her friends elbowed her gently.

"Shall we talk about Australia?"  
"Yes I believe that would be appropriate."  
"What do you want to say about Australia?"  
"Nothing God or Satan himself could ever say to me would even begin to convince me that Hell is worse than Australia. I would prefer to stab myself in the eye then ever set foot on those God forsaken shores ever again." Mattie can't help but smile a little. It wasn't something Charlie would usually say, and yet it reflected his personality perfectly.  
"Oh. Tell me about the camps." The host sounds slightly put off, trying to get Charlie to back down on his language.  
"Refugee camps were set up for people who lived. I worked at one for a time, prior to my coming to England."  
"What did you do there?"  
"Farm work, mostly. Plowing, seeding, picking. The disabled and weaker women worked in barns making clothes and shoes and such."  
"Hard work. What did you think of the work?"  
"Hm. I suppose we finally reached equality. Black or white or man or woman we all did the same work."  
"Where did you live?"  
"I lived in a shared shack with four others."  
"What kind of shack?"  
"It had four bed rolls on a dirt floor with walls. There was a fire and some tin pans."  
"What exactly did you eat?"  
"Rations. Whatever they paid us with."  
"I see. And the others? Where you close to them?"  
"Only one of them, his name was Matthew. I knew him from before." Mattie had never really asked about Matthew. He was still something of a gaping wound in Charlie's chest and she didn't want to force him to talk about anything he wasn't comfortable with. That would be cruel.  
"How?"  
"He was my boss, for a while. The he uh. Well. He got hit by a car. Then he was just my mate. I was engaged to his niece." For a second, Mattie hears Matthew screaming in her ears. She supposed that Charlie had seen and heard a lot more things that were worse, but he never mentions them unless she asks.  
"Really? What was her name?"  
"Her name was Rose. She was a journalist."  
"Did she work for a news paper?"  
"She did. She was one of the best they had. I reckon in a couple of years she'd've been running that paper."  
"She sounds very exciting."  
"She was." A second of dead air. "She really, really was."  
"I presume she's no longer with us."  
"No, her shelter caved in when the bombs hit the ground."  
"So we're opening the phone lines up now, so you can ask Charlie a question." Oxford said, to direct attention away from the depressing statement Charlie just made. Within a second, there was a call.  
"Hello, Kerry! What's your question for Charlie?"  
"I've heard rumors about radiation poisoning, what's that like to watch? Do you suffer any health effects from the Australia Incident?"  
"Uh it's a big problem. Since it takes a few weeks to set in it was six weeks before most people ended up dying from it. I had a mate who died from it, the Doctor. I was close with him. It's really not so different then watching someone you love die from cancer. They're suffering, and you want to help but all you can do is make then comfortable." He paused for thought, "And yes, I do. I have back problems from spending so much time hunched over as well as compromised vision, for which I wear glasses. Thank's for calling in." Oxford welcomes a viewer named Viktor who speaks with a strong English accent.  
"What do you think of the anti refugee protests? Is there any merit there?"  
"Um I don't really care what they have to say about me. I've probably heard worse. I think that they don't understand the application process, and they don't understand exactly how horrible things are over there. I wish they would. What gets them is when they call sponsors bad people. Every sponsor I've ever met has been a lovely person. I love Mattie a lot and it hurts my heart when people say they hate her without knowing her because she was kind to me."  
"Sarah! Have you got a question for Charlie?"  
"What do you think of the movies set after the incident?"  
"I don't like that sort of romanticizing of a terrible event irrespective of if I was there or not. I think that it's disrespectful and frankly dangerous to show Australia as something other than what it is."  
"How so?"  
"Because if someone thinks that Australia is not that bad then they may be more likely to join in those violent protests about Australia. It's…I don't have a problem with Australia being seen in movies. Just show it how it really is."  
A listener named David asks  
"What do you think of the reeducation courses?"  
"I like them. I never went to university but I imagine it was something like this.  
"I think that's all the time we have for questions. Just before we cut to a song, Charlie. How are you enjoying life in England?"  
"It's been good. Mattie and I went Christmas shopping last week, I'd never seen snow before."  
"Have you gotten her a present yet?"  
"Hm. Maybe. A man has to have some secrets doesn't he?" The host laughs.  
"Fair enough. Did you like the snow?"  
"It was nice at first, but I didn't realize that frozen water was still water. I didn't think it would be so wet."  
"Did you build a snow man?"  
"I did, yes, with some of the children from our block of flats." Mattie remembers laughing as Charlie made snow angels with the children, who seemed delighted an adult would play with them. She thought Charlie would make an excellent father, but knew full well Charlie would likely never have kids. If not from the radiation then because there was no Rose to have them with. She remembered him standing in the snow, wet and slightly blue lipped but looking so happy she'd have sworn he was someone else. "Sounds like it was fun."  
"It was. I really like children, wish I'd had some of my own. But I did have my younger brothers, which I raised mostly." She can almost hear his little smile, as their often was when he spoke of his family.  
"Well Mister Davis, I believe it's time for another song. What do you think?"  
"I agree."

…

The party was…Fun? Charlie doesn't know how to describe it. Even before, he'd not gone to many parties. Or even lock-ins. He just wasn't fond of such gatherings. They weren't for him. But Mattie was having fun so he could at least pretend. They were gathered at the house of one of her friends and her husband. Both of them worked at the hospital and on the few occasions he'd been there Charlie'd found them likeable.

Even though he would rather be home, working on his assignments, he supposed that this wasn't a bad way to spend his Christmas day. Gifts had already been exchanged from couple to couple. Mattie had selected all the one's they'd given (not to say they were a couple, but they seemed to have been interpreted as one by their gracious hosts.) It seemed that they'd taken his and Mattie's culture into consideration, and they were having Christmas lunch foods, even though it was dinner time.

Mattie was chatting freely with her friends, while he played with his food on his plate. She looked to be having fun. He was glad. He wanted her to have fun. He wanted her to be happy. They'd been given mostly homeweres as gifts. Towels and sheets and such. Mattie said that they were all high quality but he wouldn't know. He wonders if Jean was having Christmas with Jack. What she was doing. If she was alive. He remembers spending Christmas with her and Blake one year, before he and Rose were engaged -only courting- and helping her in the kitchen. He'd cut ham and set the table while she arranged various fruits on her pavlova. There was one on the table today as well, another nod to him and Mattie, he presumed. It wasn't the same, but he was glad, so glad, that they were trying. It made him feel warm inside, regardless of the temperature out there, past the glass.

He also thought about Bill Hobart, about if he ever found his mum or if like Charlie, knew there was nothing to go back to. If he was alive today. If he was in a camp or celebrating some way. If he even knew what day it was.

He was grateful to be away from that life. Under the table, Mattie put a hand on his knee. He finds it comforting.

…

"What happened to Matthew?" Charlie looked up at her, and then back to his hands.  
"I don't really wan-"  
"You'll feel better." Possibly.  
"He died."  
"Obviously."  
"He took ill, last year. I don't know what with, I'm not a doctor. Ned left around that time. Went looking for Bill, I think. I stayed."  
"I'm sorry."  
"You didn't do anything."  
"I still am."  
"There was nothing anyone of us could do and of course the English didn't care. He took a long time to die. I used to lie with him and listen to his heart in case it stopped in the night." She put her head on his shoulder.  
"I love you, Mattie."  
"I know."  
"I don't know if it's platonic or romantic, but I love you. I love you so much." Pause.  
"I love you too." He wasn't sure where they were going to go from here. If there was somewhere that they even could go, but looked forward to it, whatever it was. He hoped she did as well.

…

"They've opened mail to England up for those seeking refuge."  
"I know." Charlie replied, stirring whatever he was cooking with a metal fork with a sharpened end that he had used as a shank on a couple of occasions. Matthew sighed softly and shut his eyes. Though he loved Charlie, the man could be as irritating and stubborn as a mule at times.  
"You should write to Mattie."  
"Why would I do that?" He asked, raising one eyebrow. He tipped the tiniest bit more water into his pot from his canteen. He looks old and tired. Like someone had sucked all the life out of him. It hurt Matthew, knowing that someone was him, but he doesn't have the strength anymore to fight with him.  
"There's nothing left for you here, Charlie." He looked up from his pot that he'd been concentrating so hard on to give him a sad look. One that spoke oceans of words.  
"You're here, aren't you?"  
"Not forever. Certainly not for much longer."  
"Don't talk like that." He said, sharply. Matthew pulled his blanket up. Charlie fiercely stirred his pot, "You are not going to die. Not now."  
"I'm worried about you."  
"Why would you do that? You're the sick one aren't you?"  
"Theoretically. What will you do when I'm gone?"  
"Keep on going, I imagine."  
"Go to Mattie. She's going to need you." Charlie tipped the food from the pot onto two separate plates. He doesn't have a reply.


End file.
